Discourse and Deception
by rainingWolf
Summary: He didn't know that they were a this. (He knew. He always knew but this is charades. Game. Game. Always.)


(Because guilty ships are sometimes, the best ships.)

* * *

The room is spacious but comfortable. Starscream had always loved this room with its airy feel. But right this moment, the room that he had scraped and clawed to get is no longer the safe place he had thought it was as Windblade enters the room. The second she steps into it, the air fizzes, snaps, pops, then- nothing. The air is dead and Starscream wonders what it means for the both of them even as he puts his servo on his desk and leans against it.

"What brings you here, my dear?" His voice is casual, but perhaps too casual, too much effort to pretend to be something he is not, so it comes out more thin than it should. But Windblade says nothing and continues her steady pace forward; Starscream resists the urge to back up and instead, stands his ground to meet her optics.

She does not look away and Starscream is drawn as always to how blue her optics are. She never looks him in the eye when they are out in public. In meeting rooms with other councilors around, she looks at some vague spot over his shoulder and talks at some phantom around him rather than to him. Yet, he can always feel her gaze on him even if he never sees it directly.

The distance between the two of them is slowly closing so he takes the opportunity to compromise. He sits down with a gesture towards the other to do the same. He rummages casually through some papers, pretending, always pretending, when Windblade places her own servo on the table.

He wonders if she wants him to hold them.

"You know why I'm here." Her fingers tighten into a fist and he relishes in the flash of vulnerability on her face. This is a game that they're both well versed in but he is still unprepared for the next words that come out of her mouth.

"I can't keep doing this."

Starscream manages, just barely, to keep his wits about him enough to nod at the possibility of what that sentence could mean. He waits, fingers still flipping through papers, pretending, still pretending, and was rewarded when Windblade's hand came up on his to stop his mechanical motion.

There is a beat, two, where everything stops but something has to break, so Starscream clears his throat, lowering his face to look at their intertwined hands on the table. "I didn't know there was a _this._ "

He didn't know that _they_ were a this. (He knew. He always knew but this is charades. Game. Game. Always.)

He wants to take his servo off to motion at the empty gap between the two but thinks better of it as his hand warms beneath hers and for one brief second, he doesn't want to let go. But he should and does so. He misses the heat of Windblade's hand in his but shows nothing as he leans back in his seat. This is a game. Always. Game of politics. Game of romance. Game of life.

And Starscream hates losing so he blinks slowly at the young femme before him, acutely aware of how weary he feels at the sight of her open face. A sigh escapes him and he is suddenly not Cybertron's leader but a mech too tired to put up pretenses. Scrap pretenses. Scrap this charade of words. Scrap the sad lines etched on Windblade's face because Starscream wants to win and this is the one fight he will not give up.

His face must have given away his desires, his wants, and he cannot deny that it is a relief that no words needed to be said between the two of them, even if the mask he had been creating since he wished upon a star for power is breaking this very moment. He reaches forward as if to put a hand to soothe those tired lines away but he stops when Windblade moves first.

"You know what I'm talking about. And the answer is no," Windblade says, her hands clasped in front of her as if praying for patience.

She should be praying for strength instead because he will not take no for an answer; he will take what is his.

"No?" He repeats her words and relishes when Windblade does not flinch, does not show how she really feels beyond the lines deepening on her face; she's learning how to play this game, but for once, he has no patience for games. His voice comes out hoarse as he repeated once more, softer, tired, so tired.

"No? To _this_?"

What he means is plain- 'No? To _me_?"

Starscream wonders if it's not only his spark hurting right now when Windblade shifts and a look of heartbreak flashes on her face before she could suppress it. So he does what he could. He reaches forward to cup her chin, tilting it up, shedding light on her face for the first time since she entered his room so many minutes ago.

Windblade is trembling but she does not resist as he asks once more, "Is your answer still no?"

"Please." Her heart face is blemished with sad lines but he is attracted to her lips, the redness, the coldness, and brushes a digit over it; he feels more than hears her murmur, "Don't ask me that." Her optics flutter once, twice, and Starscream can practically feel her spark within his grasp. "Because if you ask me again," she breathes, the sound cutting through the room like a clear winter night, "my answer might change."

Everything seem to still at the femme's words and Starscream can only blink at the hunger in her blue optics that remind him of everything good and pure.

"What if, my dear? What if…" He trails off, digit still on her lips as he leans closer; Windblade doesn't move away and this is no longer a game when their lips meet, faceplates against faceplates, closer than they've ever been before.

* * *

\- For my friend's birthday :^)

\- I know nothing about Transformers so lmk if this is wrong lmao. I spent 4 minutes on Google looking up Transformers anatomy so help me.

\- Enjoy and drop a review if you like it.


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